


Hold Out Your Hand

by blublublah



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rape, Sexual Abuse, also i wrote during christmas whats wrong with me, god so much angst, i promise there will be some fluff at the end, much hurt not so much comfort, only read if you're up for some feels, set during 1971
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blublublah/pseuds/blublublah
Summary: It was supposed to be a fun night out. Something goes wrong and now there's only despair and the haunting realization of what happened left.~Theres some really heavy stuff in this fic so be warned.Titel taken from: Friends will be Friends





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So first of all, thank you for clicking on this little work of mine.  
> I haven't finished a fic in like 3 years so I'm super proud that I actually sat down and wrote this piece.  
> This is already finished, I just decided it would be easier to read if I split it up.  
> Another thing, english is not my first language so if you find any errors or anything let me know!
> 
> With that being said....have fun....I guess??  
> ~  
> TW: Rape / Sexual Abuse

He didn’t know how much time had passed. It had been supposed to be a fun night out. They had such a good session today, working on the new album, improving the lyrics and adding some new parts. John came up with an amazing bassline and Freddie was beaming with creativity. This night out truly had been much needed, especially after the last few months.

The almost desperate search for a fitting bassist had really taken a toll on their friendship. No one had been good enough for Freddie, or they were too lazy for Brain or even too obnoxious and irritating for himself.

Until one night, a few months ago, they had finally found their missing piece.

Its name? John Richard Deacon, the quiet man had miraculously appeared one day and they quickly convinced him to join their little band. And God, what a great addition that man was, John had needed some time to warm up, their group already so familiar and comfortable with each other, it was quite intimidating, the blond had to admit.

Still, once the talented bassist had spent some sessions with them, talking, experimenting, playing, laughing and of course drinking, he opened up and blew them away.

That man was a fucking gem. Finally, comfortable around their crazy little group, he showed them some texts he’d come up with, Freddie had been so thrilled; he was also pretty smart and helped Brian more than once with some studies or simply helped keeping Freddie and himself under control; He and John actually were quite the opposites, still they got along quickly, their rhythm section becoming more of an exclusive little club. The music helped them getting to know each other but the wit and honest attitude really bonded John to their group.

He enjoyed the youngers presence, he could count on him to have his back, even after the fairly short time, to listen to his problems, to be there for him; not asking too many questions like Freddie sometimes liked to do, or not trying to find a solution, to give him unsolicited advice like Brian; no John was so easy to be around, it felt unnatural and weird not having him by his side, dancing to his left.

He thought about their last concert, a few days ago. John always did these dorky little dances, he would-

A sharp pain brought him back to reality.

Oh, right. He had been so lost in these innocent memories, he forgot where he was for a moment.

The fun had come to a rather bitter end and the night, that was supposed to relieve some stress and tension, turned into a full-blown nightmare.  

Another sharp tug at his hair and he realized he was supposed to say something.

What was the question?

“Are you even listening, you fucking fag?” The voice was dulled and seemed way too far away, considering the man speaking was right behind him, quite literally.

He tried to answer, but his sore throat contributed nothing more than a weak moan.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” A spiteful chuckle sounded right above his ear, sending shivers down his back, causing his strained muscles to ache.

He tried to lose himself again, chasing the sweet memories from before, trying his hardest to get his mind out of this disgusting bathroom stall back to the laughter and smiles of his friends. The fingers digging into his waist prevented his pathetic attempt and reminded him once more how he was stuck in the present time.

The smell of cheap toilet cleaner, vomit and piss had settled in his nose and overpowered his sense with disgust making his stomach churn.

His senses were irritated to say the least, the loud music booming through the thin walls, the smell surrounding him, the blotched vision, caused from pain and too much alcohol, and now his hands, his precious hands that he needed very, very much, were starting to feel number and number by the second.

He had tried wiggling his fingers, shifting his wrist but besides soaring pain shooting up his veins nothing much happened. The circulation was barely enough to give him at least the feeling of still having his fingers attached to his hand.

He dammed himself for the umpteenth time; why did he always have to be so fucking stubborn, why could he not just went home with the other three, why not call it a night when they had fun and a good fucking time, why wait until everything turns to shit?

Because he was fucking Roger Meddows Taylor and smart decisions were not something he was known for.

His blond hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat running down his cheeks, catching on his eyelashes blurring his eyesight even more. Though, it didn’t really matter, since there wasn’t much to see to begin with.

The tie or belt or whatever it was that the other had used, was wrapped tight around his wrist, squeezing them hard enough for Roger to know there would be marks tomorrow.

Not that they were the only marks he would suffer from this encounter.

His neck had been abused before this whole thing even started. Rough kisses plastered on his skin as the man behind him, had dragged him to this stall. It had been supposed to be a quick little fun one night stand. Just two guys getting it on after a long hard day of working; nothing of this was ever supposed to happen.

He swallowed the sob and bit down on his lips. Another thing that will be wrecked once the sun would come up.

His back was probably covered in purple, blueish bruises if the roughness the other was using was anything to go by. He knew for sure, he felt teeth for at least 5 times; his stomach turning again at the thought of angry red marks buried into his skin without consent.

Another gasp was swallowed. Teeth drawing blood from biting down to hard;

His legs were trembling, barely able to support the weight they had to hold; Toes cramped from the uncomfortable position he had been put in; He stumbled a few times, but the rough hands were quick to put him back into place. Not wanting to waste a second of this precious time.

No, his abuser, what was his name? Something common, Michael? No, Theodor? Nah, but close…he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t care less anyway.

No, his abuser was trying his hardest to get the most out of this for as long as he could. Roger could feel this sentiment quite literally. His whole body trembling by now, aching from the straining touch of the other man inches away from him.

But between all this pain, his throbbing wrist, aching legs, abused back, stinging lips, the worst was by far the burning pain in his bottoms.

Each thrust sending electrifying pain - like sharp needles mixed with the scorching pain of pouring alcohol over exposed skin completing it with the dull feeling of hitting your head on a bedpost - through his body.

This was not something Roger had ever imagined happening to him.

He knew he was a flirt, and he liked the attention others gave him when he flaunted his body after a show during their little after parties or at the local pub after their sessions. No, he was very aware of the effect his looks had on other people, female or male.

He was proud of this and liked to show off, he liked to make people nervous with his raspy, seductive voice and innocent eyes. Playing with them, with their needs and getting them confused or irritated enough to see the fire in their eyes burn brighter.

Getting high on the knowledge he was the one fueling their lust, their want;

Playing with fire was always a dangerous thing to do, but Roger was addicted to the feeling of stepping closer and closer, until he was almost feeling the flames lick at his lips, warming his cheeks, nearly catching his lashes on fire.

The kick he got from this was unhealthy and stimulating at the same time. Until today he had never been burned, never had gotten too close, too careless; not once had he lost track of the flames, of the fire around him.

But what do they say? There’s always a first time for everything.

So now Roger was stuck here; here being an unknown, small club they all went to, to celebrate a successful day of musical skill and companionship; here being a dirty, barely lit bathroom, surrounded by patchy tiles and smeared walls, beneath the hands of an even dirtier man to fulfill just one and only one task; stuck bringing the other man pleasure at his own expense.

Said man grunted into his hair; his breath- reeking of alcohol and something even more foul than the toilet next to them - tickling his neck, sending goosebumps across his skin, his hands numbly clenching, feet staggering, just to get some – any – distance between them.

Every thrust was another blow to Rogers crippling sanity. His heart going so fast, competing with his breath to leave him with the horrible sensation of almost drowning; his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen making it down his throat; all while his mind was going so slow, too slow, not able to keep up with what was happening to him.

His own brain trying to shut down, to give into the delicious dizziness, the dull feeling of complete isolation to his surroundings. Trying to save what’s left; trying to keep him from falling apart completely.

But Roger will not have any of that. He was not some weak-willed bitch that just let themselves be used and then thrown away, abused and broken.

No, he still had some dignity left, hidden under all the pain and disgust, there still was that stubborn loud boy fighting everything that was thrown his way.

He was a lot of things but he was not one to back down a fight.

He noticed how the other stopped talking, just grunting and moaning into his backside, pressing wet kisses on his shoulders, the smacking sound echoing in his ears. Sloppy kisses, uncoordinated thrusts, the rhythm faltering.

The other was close, no doubt. So close to that sweet, sweet delicious high that Roger often longed for himself.

He knew how distracted one could get from that exact feeling.

For the first time since he had been dragged into this damned bathroom stall, Roger could feel a smile tugging at his bloody lips.

He felt the stumbling thrusts get more and more sloppy, the breath on his neck hitched and hot; the fingers on his hips digging harder, more clinging to him than anything.

With a one quick sweep Roger threw his head back, trying his best to aim for the others face, colliding hard with something, probably the nose of his abuser.

Yes, it had hurt but the dull pain at the back of his head was worth the surprised, pained yell from the other who quickly withdrew, hands finally off his waist, feet staggering away from him, slipping out of him completely.

Oh what a blessed feeling that was. Only air surrounding his abused body, giving him a moment to breathe, to regain some control over his trembling limps;

“Fuck” the angry voice spat, booming behind him. “You little-“, and with that, the moment was over, rough fingers gripped his disheveled hair, drawing his head back before bringing it toward the dirty tiles in front of them.

Sudden hot pain erupted, his vision corrupted by more black spots, the air knocked out of his lungs.

For a moment Roger wondered if this was the moment, the moment he really would lose this battle, the moment he would lose consciousness and finally give into the nothingness that was pulling at him ever since this started.

His head throbbed, his thoughts all over the place, his vision slowly recovering. What a short lived victory that was.

Then the hands were back, oh how he damned these harsh lumps of flesh, digging into his bruised skin, keeping him still; keeping him in place.

Which was actually quite necessary. As soon as the other slowly entered him again, Roger felt his legs give in, no longer able support the aching body through the pain it was put into. The other was quick to catch him though, picking up where they had stopped moments ago. Barely acknowledging the lump body collapsing in front of him.

His mouth tasted sour, like acid and iron mixed; he only then realized he was throwing up. Letting the nauseating substance trip down his chin, onto his shirt, down onto the patchy tiles; painting a disgusting picture of that very night for the cleaning lady.

He had been sure the first thrust had been the worst thing that could have happened to him this night, but how foolish that had been of him; oh how wrong he was.

When the other was fully seated inside him, filling him up before starting to move again, bile rose again; almost choking, he released another patch, this time actually hitting the toilet. The sickening feel of that thing moving in his already raw fucked ass, starting to thrust faster than before, burning with every movement; Roger was sure he’d pass out any second now.

He somehow stayed awake, even if a tiny part of him wished he could just give into the darkness which had wrapped itself around Rogers mind. But no, he stayed awake, even if just out of spite or worry that he’d maybe even have a concussion from that blow just now.

His vision was worsening again, but that was probably due to the thick substance dripping over his left eye, only in the back of his head he realized it was most likely blood from the gash above his eyebrow.

His senses were way too fucked now anyways. His face was covered in a mixture of sweat, blood and the remnants of vomit from his earlier actions. His mouth still left with the taste of acid; he only smelled the sour, foul heave to his feet; only saw pieces of the wall in front of him, white stars pinching his eyes, the pain so unbearable; his ears filled with the awful sound of flesh slapping together erratically mixed with drowned moans of pleasure, growing louder and more haunting by the second; feeling nothing but agony;

At some point the heat behind him disappeared; a shiver running down his in sweat covered back as a gush of air hits him.

He feels something running down his thigh and without checking he knows what the mysteries substance must be. He feels sick again, his empty stomach still managing to bring up more acid laced water, choking it out while deliberately avoiding thinking about the searing pain in his bottoms; avoiding thinking about what had just happened to him.

He doesn’t know how long he had been here now; How much time had passed since entering this club with John, Brian and Freddie and being hauled into this stall with threats and curses by the other.

He doesn’t know when the other had left, taking his hungry grunts, digging fingers and disgusting dick with him.

Away from Roger;

His head was spinning, he wasn’t sure how he still had the energy so stand somewhat still; maybe it was the thought of kneeling in his own heave that kept him straight; maybe it was the shock of what had just taken place, leaving his body frozen to the spot.

He feels around, his hands free again, fuzzy from being numb, throbbing from being held way too tight for way too long. As he carefully steadies himself on the wall, he avoids looking at his wrists, his hands; too afraid of what he will see there.

He hadn’t even noticed when the other had reached his climax, the warm, sticky trail running down between his legs, unneeded evidence; hadn’t noticed how the other leaned in close after coming back down from his high, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin, pressing his lips softly against the sweaty neck, leaving tender kisses as a bittersweet goodbye.

Hadn’t noticed when the stall door had opened and the other quickly put himself together again before leaving altogether. The sudden way too ecstatic club music sounding through the opened door into the bathroom, the thumping sound of the heavy door falling close just a background noises in Rogers buzzing mind.

No, he didn’t know how long he had been here. 10 minutes? Half an hour? More than that? Did it even matter?

It didn’t, Roger decided after regaining some composure.

He stared slow, bracing himself for the impended pain. He lifted his head, brushing his soaked hair out of his sight, catching a glimpse of dark red with the corner of his eye; he didn’t know if it was from the gash or his wrists. Deliberately ignoring the tickling feeling of what must be his own blood mixed with sweat and….cum, trickling down, soaking his pants. 

Then he straightened himself, stretching his back – before collapsing, falling to his knees; a hot, agonizing pain shot through his body, shaking him whole, leaving him quivering, kneeling in his own vomit.

He let out a shaky breath, a soft whimper escaping his raw bitten lips and tried again.

This time somewhat expecting the pain, he slowly went from kneeling to crouching to stumbling hunched over out of the stall; his pants still hanging around his ankles, almost making him trip, lose his balance, quickly grabbing the sink for much needed support.

Every movement burned and once he came to a halt in front of the porcelain bowl, he felt like he had just run a marathon. Only with less running and more ass fucking…

At least he still got his wit.

Roger slowly got his breathing back under control, taking deep breaths. With twitchy hands, fingers still somewhat numb from the loss of circulation, he pulled up his trousers. Eyes scrunched together, muscles protesting at the sudden use; once he was somewhat dressed again, he turned on the water, the sound of steady streams a welcomed change to the stillness of the room and the horrible sound of before.

He dared a look at his hands, his wrists. One of the most important parts of him actually.

He needed them the most to play the drums. He needed his hands; to play, to write, to work;

Angry, red marks snaked around his wrists, the abused skin raw from the rough material of the ties. He cautiously lowered them into the cold stream of water, almost pulling them back the second the blissful coolness hits them. Wincing at the short lived pain that slowly drove the numbness out of his fingers.

He watched as the aggressive color faded a bit, the water soothing the irritated skin.

After the nerves in his hands had come back, and he could move his fingers again, he carefully brought some water to his face, grimacing when he cleaned out the gash over his eyebrow.

He also made sure to rub extra hard at the skin where the other had whispered into his ear, kissing him, using him.

Despite the fatigue he could feel settling into every cell of his body, despite the disgust he felt as soon as he let his mind wander to the bruises and pain in his bottoms, despite the stillness clenching his heart and mind, keeping him in this state of shock; despite all these feelings, he felt an unfamiliar amount of anger rising in the depths of his stomach. It scared and calmed him at the same time. The fire silently burning in his heart.

He was still himself. Not broken. Not gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope there were no misunderstandings of what happened and which part were memories.  
> Please let me know what you thought/felt while reading, I'd love to hear it either in the comments or you can hmu on tumblr [here](http://mrdisrespecthood.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you again til next time xx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty first of all HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
> I hope you all have a wonderful 2019!!
> 
> Next, thank you to everyone who commented, bookmarked or left a Kudo, means a lot to me ♥  
> Lastly please know that my last panic attack was (luckily) some time ago but I still tried to write it out the best that I could.  
> ~  
> TW: Panic Attack

Roger leaned on his trembling arms, legs still not entirely collected yet. His knuckles, white from the hard grip on the cold surface, holding him up. He tried to focus on his breathing, distracting his alarmed mind with the simple task of filling his lungs with enough oxygen to calm down his racing heart.

His head was filled with a million thoughts but he could not, for the love of god, hold onto one for longer than a second. Everything was moving, pulling at him, making him dizzy, stars danced before his eyes, sharp pain mixed with the throbbing dull ache engulfing his whole being.

He knew what was happening.

He didn’t have a Bachelor of Science in Biology for nothing.

Roger knew what was coming and despite his knowledge covering the human body and all its perks, he could not recall anything he had learned all those years ago.

You see, a panic attack was a tricky thing.

It hit you out of nowhere, unpredictable and with full force.

One moment you were fine - though in Rogers case even this statement seemed a bit exaggerated - and a second later you were left gasping, your breath coming quick, shallow; chest burning with a sudden pain, heart beating so hard against your ribs, you thought they’d bruise; panic overtaking your mind, paralyzing your whole being;

You knew it was an irrational thing, knew it would be over at some point, leaving you haunted and full of terror.

Still, when it overcame you, your only real option was to yield and let it roll over you.

Distress shook him, as he gripped onto the cold, smooth bowl – a comforting contrast to his clammy trembling hands – desperately trying to calm himself;

He couldn’t breathe, his throat tight, lungs hurting form the lack of oxygen. His eyes screwed shut, his skin seemingly on fire, his mind going thousand miles per hour, and his heart; his heart daring to break through his ribcage - he knew that would never happen; deep down he knew how irrational that fear was, still it didn’t help one bit.

He managed to stay upwards, grounding himself on the cool surface. Reminding him of the place he was, that tiny bathroom reeking of piss and discomfort.

Holding his breath, counting to seven, releasing it again and taking another deep breath;

Happy thoughts; he needed to remind himself of something positive, something to break through the panic;

Something to drive away the darkness settling in his mind, getting rid of the fear, of the horrible feeling of being used and being broken and being _worthless_.

The door opened with a loud thud, making him jump; some guy walked in, swaying, bubbling some incoherent words and clearly unaware of the blond or the state he was in.

The drunk didn’t pay any attention to him. Too caught up, using every functioning brain cell to just get his business done so he could go back to party.

The distraction was a blessing in disguise. It drew Roger from the dark thoughts corrupting his exhausted mind to the almost comedically tumbling man. His eyes strained on the others back, tension thinning the air around him again; fear still shaking him to the core;

But Roger didn’t recognize the stranger.

He let out a sigh, his throat itching from the lack of use; he blinked, feeling the last remnants of the attack slowly easing out of his body, leaving him still quivering and aching but with an indefinite stillness.

The man turned around, surprised; glazed eyes looking him up and down, confusion settling on the strangers face. Even in his intoxicated state the other man seemed to be quite worried about him. His current appearance probably far away from his usual stunning look.

“’Ey, are yo’ al’ight?” The words were slurred as the other man clumsily stepped towards Roger, who instinctly back against the sink, porcelain digging into his beaten back.

“You don’ look too good.” A hand reaching for him, thick fingers grasping at his drenched shirt.

Roger startled; shaking the grip off, squeezing past the stranger, away from the fingers, the heat, the threat;

His pain momentarily forgotten or at least hard enough suppressed, he stumbled out of the cursed bathroom.

Music exploded in his ears; lights flickering before him; the overwhelming feeling of being touched by dozens of different people at the same time;

Despite the angry fire burning beneath his skin, asking to be put out, to be left alone, to be gone, Roger pushed through the ecstatic group, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.

A quick glance towards the coat check, a second of considering getting his beloved jacket, knowing it will be too cold outside, itching to cover himself up, longing for the familiar smell overruling the sick scent of this place; he pushed for the exit.

Once he finally made it out onto the street, staggering to catch himself from the pure force of having to get out, he leaned against a lamppost.

Fully aware of the stares he was receiving; this time they weren’t welcomed, weren’t full of intrigued curiosity, weren’t comforting or even exhilarating. They burned and he wanted to vanish into thin air. Shame and fear fighting his inner fire.

After catching his breath and finally filling his lungs with real air – fresh, unused oxygen – he closed his eyes. His hair no longer wet, now feeling dirty and oily; his skin chilled covered in goosebumps; the pain still there but less overpowering, at least for the moment.

He ignored his screaming mind for a few more seconds, one last moment to catch himself, before he eventually complied to its wish, getting away; getting far away from here and never returning.

Roger walked slowly, not really remembering the way to the station. Focusing solely on setting one foot in front of the other, his mind too consumed with getting away to spare a second thought to anything. The panic and fear, the shame and disgust pushed back into the darkness battling his fire, for a moment to focus on surviving, on getting somewhere safe.

Guessing from the empty streets and quietness around him, it must have been very late already. The few people he did cross, spared him no seconds glace, probably assuming he was just another drunk trying to make his home. Their ignorance as well as the darkness of the night covering up any visible injuries.

While the cold had been comforting in the beginning, helping to soothe the pain and clearing his mind a bit, it now turned into a stinging reminder how exposed he was. His inner fire slowly losing to the icy coldness the night and darkness brought.

A shattered soul trapped in a broken shell;

He wanted to turn around. He wanted to turn around and walk down the stairs, past the wooden door leading to the kitchen, across the small floor to the reception. He wanted to turn around and get his jacket.

He didn’t.

He merely stopped, slightly hunched forward as _they_ finally fell.

Warm, almost comforting in a way, tears rolled down his cheeks, catching his abused lips, the salt stinging; pure despair taking over him.

He held back the rising sob and carelessly wiped away the shameful substance, his wrist aching from the sudden use, nerves protesting;

Roger had loved that jacket.

It had been a gift from Freddie. He still remembered how excited his friend had been; pushing the neatly packed present into his hands, the shiny wrapping paper a reminiscent of his friends’ face. It had been such a wonderful birthday, his friends throwing a party for him, with lots of cake and booze and girls.

Freddie urged him to open it, telling him how much he would love it, the light twinkling in his eyes, his whole face lit up with love for him. It had been contagious. Roger had giggled at his friend’s obvious exaggerated excitement.

He had ripped the paper away without much thought, glossy paper thrown away carelessly, his fingers feeling the velvet before he even got a glimpse at it; fingertips picking up the stiches before even getting to see the thing in its whole glory.

He cautiously lifted the piece of fabric into the air, a chuckle from Brian next to him, an unsurprised snort coming from John; Some girls had gasped, a few guys laughing – what a ridiculous gift;

Roger had stared, taking in the beauty of the fine stitchery, feeling the smooth dark blue, almost blackish material. He had been in awe;

Freddie’s laugh broke him out of his trance. “I said you’ll love it” He winked at him, clearly pleased with Rogers reaction.

“It compliments your eyes, dear.” He added in a sincerer tone, genuinely smiling at him.

Having an art major as your best friend really had its perks sometimes.

“Thank you, Freddie, really.” His voice was a bit raspier than usual, the softness clearly evident, his eyes shining with unguarded love for his friend.

He always had been an emotional person, quick to anger, easy to provoke, impossible to change.

But Freddie had always been able to look though the façade, to peak under the surface and read him like an open book. It was a curse and blessing at the same time.

Freddie knew he loved fashion, but he also knew how insecure he could become, how hard it was to keep that imagine up, to keep pretending.

Freddie was his partner in crime, were Brian was his common sense and John was slowly becoming his comfort friend, there was Freddie being the one person to never ridicule his ideas, always willing to try and have some with fun with them, fueling Rogers fire.

Ever since that night, Roger had made sure to always take good care of the beloved clothing; never leaving it on the floor, careful to not spill any drinks on it, actually washing it in the directed way.

To keep it intact, to keep the treasured piece as long as possible; a wearable reminder of how lucky he actually was to have Freddie as his friend;

And now it was gone.

The one thing that had been a comfort through all his struggles had been left behind at a place Roger knew he would never be able to return.

A cold gush of air blew the memories away; his hands numb this time from the cold creeping up his arm, his shirt doing a very poor job of keeping him warm. His chilled body, shivering – from the cold or the painful discovery, Roger wouldn’t have been able to tell.

He willed his body back into moving, if only to keep him from freezing to death, merely a few hundred meters away from that haunting place.

If anyone would have asked about the red eyes and wet cheeks, Roger would blame the unforgiving wind;

 It was a well-known fact, that Roger Meadows Taylor didn’t cry.

After walking another few blocks, barely awake enough to register where he was, the bright neon lights of the bus stops emerged between a couple of towering, dark Evergreens.

The harsh light blinding him, the throbbing in his head increasing; He tumbled into the small bus shelter, shakily sitting down;

The pain erupting sending him straight back up, knocking the air out of his lungs and Roger wanted to scream at himself for being so fucking dumb; of course, he couldn’t fucking sit after…after that.

Instead he just opted for leaning onto the icy, cracked glass for support. His bottoms still throbbing painfully but the feeling faded, dulled due to the coldness pressing against his waist.

He closed his eyes again; the memories didn’t come.

For once in this forsaken night, the luck was on his side. Shortly after maybe 10 minutes, he could pick up the coughing engine of the bus, cornering the street before coming to a halt right in front of him.

The door screeched open, an awful sound disrupting the stillness of the night. Breaking the magic of early hours, were streets were empty and the setting dew announced in the new day.

The driver shot him a tired glare, obvious picking up the state Roger was in, but thankfully keeping quiet, maybe sensing the discomfort of the young man.

He stepped into the vehicle. The bus sinking down a bit under his sudden weight, creaking before a clattering sound signaled the door had been closed behind him. Trapping him into the tiny space with a stranger, pulling him away from the cold, the quiet, the haunting loneliness.

He dug into his pockets, numb fingers searching for some spare change, grasping nothing but a cigarette and a lighter, before he could feel the cold metallic of some coins.

Hastily, the coins were laid down onto the used board, fingers trembling, eyes widening at the sight of his wrists. The driver didn’t seem to care, stowing the change away, nodding at Roger to sit down somewhere.

He quickly stepped down the small path, deciding against trying to sit again. Settling into a conjunction in the middle of the bus, letting his head rest on the cool surface of the window.

Besides a middle-aged woman, who looked way too cleanly dressed to be come out of a club, the bus was empty save for the driver and him.

The red-haired lady eyed him suspiciously, her stabbing stare burning on his skin; he knew he look far from presentable. His appearance resembled perhaps more of a fucked up junkie than anything. His hair a dirty muddle; face messed up, probably still covered in some blood; his shirt crumpled, covered in all kinds of things; his pants – he stilled – his pants still painted with the others cum and his own blood.

His gripped tightened around the pole, which at this point was digging uncomfortably into his back, his stomach flipped, the nauseating feeling back, bile burning in his throat.

God, how he wished he had never fucking stepped into that club.

He spent the rest of the ride hiding as much of his body as possible, never straining from his place against the window, back to the wall, fingers gripping the sweaty pole, eyes fixed on the floor.

Forbidding his mind to wander to the events, not wanting to cause another panic attack right here, vulnerable and defenseless. Forbidding himself to come with terms that he had been-…no not going there, Roger shook his head, willing the thoughts away.

The old vehicle made all kind of sounds, door and seats creaking, motor coughing, walls clattering; but it was warm and it was doing its job of taking them home.

The lady stopped staring at him, maybe she felt his distress, maybe she got bored; They only stopped once more, a young girl stepping in. She stretched before falling into a seat right behind the driver, yawning before seemingly falling asleep.

The next stop was his. The nausea had dissolved a bit, the slight rocking calming his mind. He could do this. Just a few more minutes and he would finally be home. Finally step inside his very own flat, surrounded by the familiar smell and comforting atmosphere of being safe.

As he stepped out of the bus, out of the warmth, out of the light. He felt the cold air brushing over his skin. The door closed behind him, signaling he had been released back into the freezing, silent darkness. This time however he knew exactly where to go.

Exhaustion was keeping him from moving anywhere near quickly, even if he wanted nothing more than to just sink down onto his mattress, forgetting this night ever happened.

What a silly wish that was;

His legs ached, clearly no longer in any shape to carry the wounded body but Roger pushed on, his mind set on the last task he had to fulfill today.

As he turned the corner of his street, the apartment block he lived him clearly visible, he stumbled to a halt - a thought crossing his tired mind.

What was he going to tell the others?

Oh god, what was he going to say, he looked fucking wrecked and in no way in a good sense; he probably smelled even more revolting, the sour taste of bile still evident in his mouth, a bitter reminder of the earlier events; he could barely move without panting or wincing from the agonizing pain.

They would notice! They would notice and start asking questions, pulling at him, looking at him, at his body; his body which was covered in disgusting marks and shameful bruises telling even a blind man what had happened tonight.

They couldn’t know! Nobody could!

But Roger also knew, he wouldn’t be able to stay out here for much longer. His body and mind needing to rest, needing to charge, barely any energy left.

Before he could lose himself again, the rational part of his brain - which was somehow still working - shut the oncoming panic down.

They would probably already be asleep. He just had to get to his room, he would lock the door, sleep until the pain faded, take a shower and go straight back to bed and sleep until the shame faded as well.

Roger would be impressed by his own self if he would have been any more awake right now.

He walked down the street, the last few meters before coming to a halt again. Wincing at the sight of the stairs leading up to the front door of the building.

His fingers gripping the railing as he pushed himself up, already preparing himself for the last obstacle on this journey. He also had to take the stairs up to his flat on the second floor. Yikes, that was going to be fun.

Once he was inside the familiar building, he thought about just sleeping down here, but the sight of the white tiles on the floor brought back unpleased memories and he abandoned that thought just as quickly.  

Bracing himself, he slowly stepped towards the hopefully last obstacle that kept him from collapsing blissfully into his mattress, the towering wooden stairs in front of him.

Seemingly moving in slow motion, he took one step after another; his mind almost blank now, the darkness which had captured it earlier, still lingering but somehow comforting; a reminder of his stupid decision, of his careless actions, of his worthlessness.

Every step sending a piercing pain through his body, like waves hitting the sharp rocks on a cliff;

The dull pain, the only thing left, the only thing reminding him he still was alive;

Roger had tried, oh he had tried so hard, to keep his spirits high; to not fall into the bottomless oblivion of despair; to stay true to himself, to keep his own fire burning, alive;

But with every step closer to the front door of his flat, he felt weaker, more fading. Every step closer to his flat, his home, his shelter, pressuring down on him, the tension barely endurable.

He couldn’t let them know.

There was no way in hell he could ever let them know what happened tonight. The pity, the worry, the disgust; he wouldn’t be able to take it.

Freddie would look at him, his usually sparkling eyes, dulled; his bright smile, vanished, replaced by a concerned frown; he couldn’t let the most caring person he knew, know what happened tonight. Freddie had enough own problems, there was no need for Roger to cause any more trouble for him or the band;

Brian would be at a loss of words for sure and under any other circumstances, Roger would thrive on the opportunity to make his best friends speechless, but not this time; this time he would be quiet, knowing that Brian would not have one moment of rest before he had fixed Roger. Staying up late to read through smart books, avoiding everyone around him only paying attention to his blond friend, not taking any care of himself too caught up with mothering Roger; trying to repair something unrepairable.

And John, oh sweet, sweet John, who had only joined them months prior. Who was so young and innocent, just wanting to have a good time, making music, creating something for others to lose themselves. John didn’t not have one bad bone in him, he was just a shy boy, a bit insecure but still witty enough to make snark remarks. A boy who wanted to bring others joy with his warm smile and comfy hugs.

Oh John, would be disgusted by him; he would no longer want to stay back at the studio with him to work on their exclusive rhythm parts; would no longer cuddle him up after a long night of drinking and melancholy. No, he would no longer want to hang out with the embodiment of disgrace, hideousness and poor decisions that Roger was now.

Overcoming the last step, he came to halt in front of the wooden entrance door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh now pls don't hate me for the way I wrote John "reaction", its clearly not how I think he'd react but keep in mind, Roger is still in shock and well just generally fucked up and is not thinking like a rational human being! I promise the last part will be less angsty and more fluffy!
> 
> The final chapter will be up sometime this weekend!
> 
> Thank you again for reading, please let me know what you thought on here or [tumblr](https://mrdisrespecthood.tumblr.com) xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo here it is, the final part! 
> 
> I'm sad it's over since I loved writing it but oh well, all good things have to come to an end!
> 
> Now I got to thank two [beautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/) and [kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacandLacy/pseuds/MacandLacy) people for motivation and helping me!  
> Check their stories out, they're both amazing writers!!
> 
> Also a little fun fact, the only fucking song I listened to while writing this was 'When the Party's over' by Billie Eilish, now I can go back to listening to less depressing music aha
> 
> Well now have fun with the final piece!!  
> ~  
> TW: mentions of past Rape

For a moment Roger just stood there.

Holding his breath, leaning towards the door, listening for any sounds inside the flat, signaling him if anyone was still up.

Silence.

Roger let out a relieved sigh. There was no light coming out from under the door, indicating that no one was home or at least those who were, were most likely asleep.

Maybe Freddie went home with Mary, while John stayed with his girlfriend. Brian was probably already passed out, obvious to the world and Roger. Maybe he could just slip in, get to his room and not face anyone until the sun rose again.

The blond patted the pockets of his pants, looking for the keys, his numb hands barely feeling anything anymore.

Nothing.

Just the cigarette and the lighter. No keys.

Shit, he groaned as the memory came back from when he first had stepped into the club. He hadn’t taken his keys with him, they would have just been annoying, digging into his thigh.  
Instead he had left them in his jacket, secured away in its inner pocket, so that no one would take them or he didn’t lose them somehow. Fuck, so his housekeys as well as the key for his van also were in the jacket in that damn club? Where he never wanted to fucking return to?

He cursed, his voice breaking, rasp from the cold and the lack of use. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  
Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was there someone up there, making a foul out of him? Taking the piss for trying to make this night the worst nightmare he’d ever had to live through? Betting away how much more it would take him to finally break him? To finally extinguish his fire, his will to keep trying? He was so fucking close, and now this?

Maybe he was overreacting, but right now, Roger couldn’t care less.

If he hadn’t been so royally fucked up, exhausted, and in indescribable pain, he would have kicked that stupid door out of its fucking frame; well he would have tried at least.

But sadly, he was no state to let his anger out through brutal force. No, he could barely hold himself up and even that was becoming a more and more challenging task as the time went on.

He couldn’t knock, he couldn’t risk to wake Brian up. The curly headed man would be all over him within seconds, the overprotective brother symptom kicking in, keeping them both up for an unnecessary amount of time until Roger would either give into Brian’s pleads or snap at him, creating an argument no one needed right now.

But he was so tired, his body aching for release. His eyes fell shut and he carelessly let his head rest against the door, not caring about the gash or his headache. He just wanted to sleep and forget.

Weak fingers raised, searching for the cold metal, finding it, clumsily gripping the doorknob, turning it in a last act of helplessness.

His ears nearly missing the soft >click<, the weight his slumped body put onto the door throwing it open, suddenly, eyes now wide open in shock, he was tumbling into the warmth of his home.

The doorknob slipped from his fingers, the door clashed against the wardrobe, Roger barely catching himself, his body screaming at the sudden movement. A twist, bending his left foot wrong, sending an agonizing pain from his arse through his spine, his stomach churning.

God fucking- he wanted to scream out in pain, but pressed his hands on his mouth, lips stinging, pain radiation from them.

He froze. The rush of his blood in his ears drowning out nearly any other sound. His eyes strained on the lit kitchen.

No one came.

There was a low sound of the television and he could see the light flickering out of the living room into the hallway. Maybe Brian had fallen asleep watching some late night documentary about the planets and shit.

For now, he was alone.

Or so he thought. As he carefully took his shoes off, not caring where he left them, a voice coming from the bright room across the hall startled him.

“Rog, is that you?” the soft voice, which the blond quickly assigned to his best friend, asked.  
No, no, no, no. His mind was racing, dizziness overcoming him. He had to get away. Brian couldn’t see him like this, no, he had to get to his room.

Starting into the direction of his own four walls, he almost ran into Freddie, who emerged from the living room. Stretching, a loud yawn escaping him, a clear sign that he had been asleep until now.

“We were waiting for you to come home, but we guessed you were- woah, darling, you look terrible.” The amused tone quickly vanished from Freddie’s still raspy voice, concern replacing it as he finished his sentence. His eyes wide, glancing over the blond in front of him.

Roger stepped back, bringing some more distance between the two of them.

“Shit, he’s right, what on earth happened to you?” The obvious worry in Brain’s voice made Roger cringe, this was wrong, so wrong; they weren’t supposed to see him! He just wanted to get to his room and-

“Did you get into a fight? That gash looks worrying, honey, what happened?” Freddie sounded more awake now, reaching out to brush away the strands of his hair covering the nasty wound on his forehead.

Roger flinched away from the touch.

He wanted to nod, to agree, yes, a fight; a stupid argument that had turned into a childish scuffle. What a perfect excuse!

But he couldn’t move, frozen to the spot, his eyes trained on the fingers merely inches away from him.

He felt nauseous, slowly peering his gaze from the fingers to the person they belonged to. Staring into brown confused orbs, dropping his gaze, not strong enough to hold it.

“Roger?” the whisper came from his other side, Brian also stepping a bit closer to him but apparently catching onto the sentiment of keeping a respectable distance.

“Please,” his own voice broke, “please don’t touch me.” The plead almost inaudible; would have been if not for the complete silence surrounding them.

“What- why, what ...” He could feel Freddie’s burning gaze on him, looking him up and down, desperately trying to figure this situation out. Shit, this was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

He wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole; make him disappear, taking him somewhere far away from the burning gazes, the surely disgusted faces and the unwanted questions;

But it didn’t, it stayed closed keeping him in place. Keeping him trapped in front of his friends. No way out. No way out, other than…Roger knew that he was in no condition to lie convincingly; besides Freddie always knew when he lied, so there really was only one way to get out of this situation.

He felt his eyes burn with unshed tears, the mere thought of this night was enough to render him powerless, without any energy, without any fire to keep pretending;

Roger knew he had to surrender.

Taking a shaky breath, the blond gave up;

“At club, there was…a guy, Thomas or something, he was so nice at first…” Roger thought back to the moment the other had suddenly appeared next to him, offering him a drink, flashing him a playful smile.

“It was supposed to be a quick…you know, just for fun”, Roger swallowed at the memories of the innocent kisses that soon turned into harsh bits, lips trailing down his neck, fingers fumbling the bottoms of his shirt open;

The blond continued, his mouth dry and painfully tightening with each word, “then he suddenly got violent. I couldn’t… I swear I tried but…” How he had been pushed back, rough hands all over his body, pushing him farther and farther, hands wrapping themselves around his wrists, dragging him, pulling him into the stall-...no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t recall the things, these horrible things that had been done to him, so soon. He couldn’t try to explain what went down in that dirty bathroom stall earlier this night. He couldn’t.

But it was too late, the pictures of the patchy tiles, the in vomit covered toilet, the smeared walls, the hands of the other on his hips; rustling as cloths were pulled away hastily, the sudden heat behind him, the sounds of flesh slapping wetly, sloppily against each other; the smell of acid burning in his nose; the memories taking him back, his vision blurring…

He didn’t want to remember this now, he didn’t want to remember this ever again;

“Oh.”

Roger looked up, his blue eyes staring directly into the brown ones of Brians.

The small voice indicating what Roger had feared the most.

His smart, smart best friend had figured it out.

The bruises on his neck, probably trailing down his back; the uncomfortable stance, trying his best to not put too much weight onto his bottom; the betraying stains on his pants; the irrational fear of being touched by one of his closest friends;

Brain Harold May really was a smart man.

The look his friend gave him had been enough; 

Roger roughly pushed Freddie aside, stumbling into the bathroom, finding the toilet even in the dark, his head falling forward into the porcelain bowl, stomach contracting painfully, leaving him heaving and gasping.

The overwhelming smell of their clean toilet mixed with the just released bile took him straight back to the stall, sending another wave of nausea through his body, his weak form shivering from the sheer force. The repressed thoughts, memories surfacing again, letting him relive the darkest moments again and again.

Out on the hall, he could hear the hushed voices of his friends even if he couldn’t make out one single word; talking, whispering, discussing, what had happened to him, what to do with him, how to handle this situation probably;

It didn’t matter anyways.

Now that they knew what had happened to him, now that they knew what a disgusting piece of-…another heave interrupted his own thoughts; Now that they knew;

It didn’t matter anymore, nothing did, it was over. He was done. His mind wreathed in darkness, the fire in his heart low, almost burned out, leaving only the ash of his once bright love for life behind. 

A sop escaped his abused throat between the heaves. Small and silent, fighting its way out, forcing itself free. Until more followed, wrecking him completely, mixing with the heaves, leaving him breathless and full of sorrow.

His muscles clenching, burning from kneeling on the hard tiles, being put into such an uncomfortable position. His head throbbing, the headache only increasing, his heart hammering in his chest. His bottom burning, aching pain throbbing, reminding him every second of….it.

Now they were running freely. Nothing to stop them, his hands gripping the bowl for support.

Roger didn’t care anymore.

Tears were streaming down his pale face, tickling his skin, falling into the mixture beneath him.

He didn’t care anymore.

Then the light went on, the door closing softly to his right. A shadow crouching next to him, a warm hand on his back. Roger jumped, squeezing against the shower, trying to get it off.  
The intruder seemed to get the clue and pulled the hand back, still staying next to him.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright, Rog. I’m just going to hold your hair back, okay? I won’t hurt you,” the warm voice informed him, before cautious hands softly tugged strands of blond hair out of his face, careful to not touch him just yet.

Roger let John proceed.

Then they just sat there, Johns warm presence next to him somewhat comforting, the fact that his friend was still there with him, still seemed to care about him; but only in the back of his mind, did Roger acknowledge these things, his thoughts too occupied with the darkness reminding him every second how disgusting, how revolting, how worthless he was.

As the heaving subsided, his stomach stinging with emptiness, tears still running, his breath shakily calming down, the voice spoke again.

“I’m going to get you some tea to help against the nauseous feeling, be right back.” 

John promised before for slowly getting up, not wanting to startle the blond.

Roger didn’t acknowledge him or his words, he sat still staring into the mess he made. And then the calming presence was gone.

His heart clenching again, the darkness whispering to him - he left because he can’t stand looking at you, covered in snot, vomit and god knows what - another sob ripping through his frame.

He cried openly now. Something he hadn’t done in a very long time. It felt embarrassing, he wasn’t a child anymore, he should be able to keep himself together, to deal with his problems like a fucking adult.

Strangely enough, it also felt liberating, letting all the misery and pain flow out of him, really crying for the first time in years. Big, fat tears falling; hollow, broken cries filling the small room, echoing back to him;

The voices behind the door had faded, John probably took the other two back into the kitchen with him. Away from that pathetic pile of what was left of him;

No, Roger had been left alone with his tears, the ugly sobs and the horrible conclusion that he really had been raped tonight.

The tears still came, but he sat up a bit, his legs protesting, his bottoms aching, his heart breaking; the darkness ever so present.

The door opened again, soft footsteps walking towards him, stopping shortly before him. Some rustling and then the water in the sink turned on.

Then the person moved again, crouching in front of him.

“Hey,” the soft voice of his best friend let him look up a bit, only now noticing the towel which had been wetted, right before his eyes.

“here”, Brain gave it to the him, watching him silently as Roger brought the soft fabric to his face, cleaning it carefully.

“That’s better, right?” The almost joyful tone irritated Roger, how was Brian so happy right now? He crumpled the towel, throwing it carelessly away from him.

“Shush, hey” picking up on the confused mood of his friend, Brian drew Rogers attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re back home now. That you’re safe now.”

New tears sprung to his eyes at his friends’ words. Roger sniffed and wiped across his face, nodding slightly, he also was fucking glad to be back here.

Now he just wished to go lay down and pass out and never wake up again.

Instead he waited for the other to speak again, or move or do anything at all.

Another proof that Brian was his best friend was that he had always been able to read his mind, sometimes knowing even better than Roger what the blond was thinking or feeling.  
Smiling reassuringly, Brian motioned to for him to get up. “Come on, let’s get you into bed,” he said, holding out his hand to help Roger up.  
But he didn’t take it. Instead he shook his head. “Need to clean the rest first” the whisper barely audible, wiping the smile of Brian’s face, an unsettling tension filling the room all of a sudden.

“Of course, if you need any help, I’ll be right outside. I’m going to check how your tea is coming along, okay? Just make a noise if you need anything!” The words tumbling out, as the curly haired man backed out of the tiny bathroom, closing the door behind him gently.

Roger couldn’t help but smile at his friends’ antics, always the first one to help, first one to worry; at the thought of what came now though, the smile turned into a frown.

He very slowly and even more carefully slipped out of his pants, throwing them into the shower, turning on the water.

No one should hear him, and he wanted the stains to be gone as soon as possible.

He picked up another, clean towel, running it under the water before setting to work on his thighs, making sure to not look too closely, not needing anymore pictures of his abused body.

After he was finished, not really feeling any better but knowing that there weren’t any unwanted substances on him anymore, he wrapped a bigger towel around his waist, covering up his trembling legs, his marked hips, his used arse.

When he stumbled into his own room, he was greeted by a soft glowing light and an unfamiliar warmth. Candles had been lit all over his bedroom – probably Freddie’s doing - on his desk, his drawer, even his windowsill; a pleasant smell filling the air.

He bridged the distance to his bed and carefully sat down, quickly changing into a different position, laying down.

As soon as his head hit his fluffy pillow, he felt sleep tugging at his consciousness. He gave into the desire, closing his eyes, the worlds blacking out around him, his body finally being able to rest, his mind hopefully escaping the into blissful nothingness.

But not just yet. Unsurprisingly, a few moments later he heard the soft footsteps return, peering his eyes open again, already drowsy, his vision swimming;

His friend had entered his room quietly, careful not to startle Roger anymore.

Brian softly set down a cup of tea and a glass of water on his nightstand before also sitting down at his legs, mattress dipping slightly.

For a moment no one moved, the only sound coming from the candles, the flames crackling gently.

“You should drink a bit before sleeping. Your body is probably dehydrated as hell. Also, I brought some painkillers, they probably won’t do much, but I figured you might as well try them anyways. John also put some fennel into your tea, it’s going to help soothe your stomach.” Brian was rambling again and Roger couldn’t help but let out a huff.

“You shush. Hurts my head.” Brian smiled fondly at Rogers incoherent sentence.

The blond sat up a bit – painfully aware to not put too much weigh on his bottom - still keeping the distance between them, he swallowed the pills with some help of the tea, grimacing at the taste, before gulping down the water, only then realizing how thirsty he had been.

As he laid back down on his side, he felt a bit better, the water working wonders on his throat and the far too sweet tea warming him up from the inside.

“Thank you.” He looked at his friend, catching his eyes in the dim light of the nearby candles. Brian looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, the shadows dancing across his face, making him look way older than he really was; he still was probably looking a hundred times better than Roger himself.

“Shush, you don’t need to thank us, seriously, Roger, I don’t know what exactly happened after we left, god we shouldn’t have- doesn’t matter now. What I mean is, I think I know what happened, I won’t ask you, don’t worry, but if I’m right, and I normally am and I love it but not now, god how I wish to be wrong just this one damn time, now that you most certainly have been-” he stopped his rambling for a second, gathering his thoughts. Roger was infinitely grateful Brian avoided the dreaded word.

“Ah, anyways, what I wanted to say, Roger, don’t worry about us or our feelings, don’t be afraid to talk to us, don’t cut us out, getting all lost in that pretty head of yours. I know what you’re doing, and god, shit, you have every fucking right to do so. I mean, Freddie was ready to stomp back to …he was ready to fight the world for letting this happen...”, Brian lowered his gaze, breaking the eye contact, his fingers fumbling with the blanket.

Roger couldn’t remember when his friends had looked that distraught, so anxious and scared; he hated every second of it.

“Shit Roger, I know you have every right to hate the world right now, but please, let us be there for you. I can take a few sleepless nights, some missed lectures or unattended family meetings. I can take your anger, your screams and kicks, I can take your tears and cries; I can take all that but I cannot take watching you, you of all people, pull away from us. Completely unnecessary shame and self-hatred, yes unnecessary listen to me, killing your light, suffocating your fire. I know its selfish of me, to demand anything from you, but we will be there for you, I promise. You just have to let us.”

He looked back up. Brown, red rimmed eyes, wet with unshed tears, catching deep blue ones just as equally wet.

Brian always knew how to handle Roger; how to calm him down without dismissing his feelings; how to keep him motivated, when they had practiced a set over 7 times; how to cheer him up, when he got lost in his head; he knew how to handle him, how to read him, how to make sure he was happy and content.

So that’s what he was trying right now;

Trying to take some of the burden off Roger’s shoulders, knowing how the twisted mind of his friend worked. He could almost hear the horrible things Roger throwed at himself, could almost feel the fear radiating from his closet friend, could almost see the light fading from these beautiful big eyes in front of him.

God, Brian couldn’t believe this had happened. That he really was sitting here, facing his best friend, who looked like he had been put through hell, which was possibly quite true, and he didn’t do anything to prevent it. Not that he could have known, but still;

Roger just stared at him, lips pressed together, eyes shining – the normally dazzling blue without its usual excited sparkling, the fire barely burning anymore – dark circles beneath them, his skin sickly pale with deep purple, almost black bruises peeking out behind the hair;

At the sight of those bruises, Brian felt a never before experienced anger flare up in the depths of his stomach. An unfiltered hate towards the disgusting piece of shit that had dared to lay a hand on the blond, that had dared to use, no, to abuse his best friend. Who had dared to try and take their sunshine and break him, taking his light and life with him.

In that moment, Brian swore to himself and more importantly to Roger, that he would never let anyone touch the blond again. Never ever would anyone ever be able to get to their sunshine and hurt it.

He took a breath to calm himself again, this was not the time for anger and frustration, for accusations; no, right now he still had a very emotionally unstable friend who definitely needed some kind of reassurance in front of him.

“Take all the time you need, we won’t ask any questions. Not John, not me and most certainly not Freddie, I promise. I do not want to pressure you in any way, actually I kept Freddie from calling the police, shush I said I stopped him, knowing it wouldn’t be what you want right now. Take it slow, John said he’ll take care of your classes, you don’t have to do anything you don’t feel ready to or simply don’t want to. We will be right by your side. Always.” He nodded, reassuring himself he had said everything that needed to be said right now.

It probably was way too much for Roger to comprehend right now anyways, judging from the way his friend looked ready to pass out any given moment. Still Brian needed to make sure Roger knew they were here for him. 

Now, tomorrow and every damn following day after that. Always.

A moment passed, silence filling the warm room, not wanting to crowd the blond, already feeling bad for dumping all of this onto the other, Brian moved to get up.

A hand stopped him.

“Stay. I don’t want to …. but please stay.”

Roger hadn’t touched him, his hand hovering slightly above the mattress, gesturing to the messy sheets besides him.

“I don’t think I want to be…. alone right now.” The blond admitted softly, knowing how ridiculous that request sounded, even in his own head.

“Of course.”

Brian laid down next to him, complying to his friends wish immediately. An encouraging smile present on his lips, warm eyes watching over the blond, the head radiating from his body welcomed.

Somehow Roger found himself shyly smiling back at his friend, eyes lidded and heavy with fatigue, the tiny spark of fire which almost had seemed gone a few moments before, flaring up, lighting up in the midst of the ever-present darkness in his head. Brian was still here. As were Freddie and John. His friends were still here.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

The words spoken with so much love and understanding, that Roger ignored his protesting mind for the time being, grasping onto Brian’s hand, holding it tightly, before finally letting his mind slip into blissful unconsciousness, his friend watching over him the entire night.

Never letting go of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's it!  
> I'm actually really happy with the end, so let me know how you liked it!
> 
> One more thing:  
> I really wanted to emphasize how the recovery is not going to be easy and quick, that sexual abuse is not some quirky interesting plot filler. That it's terrifing, inhuman and can't be healed with a few kind words or hugs.  
> Sadly our society still doesn't acknowledge the aftermath of it and all to often we read/see abuser not getting the punishment they deserve. Victims often have to suffer their whole life, not able to speak up for whatever reason, alone with their fear and pain.  
> If you or a loved one of yours is suffering or suffered from abuse (of any kind) please reach out and get the help you/they deserve! Here is a [international list for help for survivors](https://www.rcne.com/links/sources-of-help-for-survivors/) and [here are some suggestions how to help](https://everydayfeminism.com/2014/01/how-to-help-a-loved-one-experiencing-domestic-violence/).
> 
> Now I just want to thank you all again for reading, commenting, etc. I really appreciate all of you!  
> Please rememeber to be kind and thoughtful with your words and actions, we're all stuck on the same planet :P
> 
> So until next time xx


End file.
